


Stray

by SpaMightWrite



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Collars, D/s, Deliberate Wetting, Kink Meme, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Omorashi, Oral Sex, Pet Play, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, Urination, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:10:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaMightWrite/pseuds/SpaMightWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arc 1: Jimmy Jacobs is a kind soul, deep down. He takes in stray animals off the streets! Stray animals like Dean Ambrose.</p><p>Arc 2: William Regal never expected to find a pet where he worked. But he's never been good at separating business and pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme fill that's turned into quite a monster.

He'd seen him skulking about several times before, outside his third-favorite dive bar. He was... scruffy. Yes, that described him perfectly. Unkempt came to mind. Not for lack of trying... his hair probably just _did_ that no matter what. 

All of his friends seemed to know him well, greeting him openly and enthusiastically, often with a ruffle of the sandy curls atop his head. It was almost as if he and the stray knew each other, spending so much time in the same place and interacting with the same people. 

But Jimmy Jacobs had only heard, and seen, never met. There was plenty else occupying his mind on most nights.

So for a while, he paid him little mind.

The both of them kept much to themselves, anyway.

But that, precisely, is what caused him to pay attention one night: the dichotomy of his behavior. When lacking in direct interaction or companionship, he would be content to slump by himself into a corner or next to the alleyway outside. Nearly falling asleep, it seemed. But when spoken to, he would yap incessantly, looking this close to jumping on top of whoever was paying attention to him. Excitable thing, wasn't he?

For a week or so, Jimmy could scarcely get him off his mind. The scruff, the sad blue eyes, that grin full of life and mischief. That tongue that just couldn't stay in his mouth for very long. 

He was... very cute. Jimmy had no qualms about admitting that to himself.

And so, as always, the next weekend he found him outside that very same bar, begging about for scraps.

“Hey, man. Can I bum a cigarette off ya?” His jeans were ripped at the knees, the graphic on his t-shirt was faded to the point of incoherence, and his leather jacket was clearly secondhand. There was a significant stubble on his chin and a scabbed-over cut on his right cheek.

Admittedly, Jimmy would have walked right past him if he hadn't spoken. He preferred a slow burn to diving right into anything, it was just how he operated. But he also wasn't one to pass up an opportunity when it was staring him in the face. Or rather, just left of his face. 

“I got nothing for ya, sorry,” Jimmy shrugged and shook his head. Just as the stray was about to turn around, he interjected, “Can I buy you a beer instead?”

His ears perked up.

Jimmy gestured towards the door, maybe a little melodramatically. “Got a name?”

“Dean,” he offered up without hesitation.

That's where it had started. They got to know each other quickly and smoothly over the following weeks, meeting at the bar for drinks every few nights. They would trade stories – sometimes Jimmy would interject with a joke or a comment, and other times he would let his new friend ramble. Dean was surprisingly forthcoming about his life, considering his circumstances. Grew up poor and having seen far too much than any child should. He got even with the world by making his living in unarmed combat.

Same as Jimmy. Odd that they hadn't run into each other before then.

Dean appeared far more healthy and self-assured than anyone could be after all he'd gone through. But, as he insisted over and over, “I survived this long. I'm real hard to put down. Like a street dog, yanno?”

They saw each other constantly after that. Jimmy was all kinds of intrigued – he seemed like quite the interesting character, this Dean Ambrose. Dean on the other hand just seemed happy to have that sort of attention for an extended period of time. It must have helped that Jimmy was, in Dean's words, “kinda pretty”.

“Only 'kinda'?” He pretended to be insulted, but it didn't seem like something Dean would say lightly.

He was fiddling with the ties on his hoodie, his fingers as busy as his brain. “Well. Pretty for... for a...”

“A guy?”

“I was gonna say 'wrestler', but yanno, sure.”

Well, that did it, though. The smile he tried to conceal, the pink just barely visible on his cheeks whenever they locked eyes by coincidence. That and the compliment... 

He knew. And so he acted on it.

“Dean, how about I take you home?”

He looked up from lapping at some leftover beer foam on the inside of the glass.

“Yeah,” he replied. “How about that?”

~

Dean never expected to be taken care of. He'd grown up fending for himself in most respects, and it just seemed the way of things for him. In fact, it made him rather suspicious if someone extended their hand for him. He had to assume that anyone wanting to do that had some ulterior motive, anticipating they would betray his trust or take advantage of him in some way.

And so, as he sat on the couch in Jimmy's apartment, having kicked his shoes off and hung his jacket at the door, the hair on the back of his neck prickled when he heard the offer.

“Let me take care of you, okay?”

It hadn't exactly come out of nowhere. Dean was previously complaining about the strain in his shoulders and how it was giving him one hell of a headache, and the multitude of other pains in his body that came with their profession. Without having been asked, Jimmy scooted over and began massaging Dean's shoulders. 

It was barely two seconds before he instinctively shrugged off Jimmy's hands. He regretted it just about immediately, because Jimmy was actually really damn good at this. But he couldn't take it back.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He wasn't sure if he was, but he absolutely wanted Jimmy to think so. “Just... not used to people doing stuff for me.”

A grin crept up on Jimmy's lips. “You let me buy you what I've estimated to be two dozen beers.”

Dean scoffed. “That's different. Somehow. I dunno.”

And then he said it.

“Huh?”

Jimmy let his hand rest on Dean's knee, squeezing ever so gently. “I believe I heard you call yourself a street dog once. Call me a bleeding heart, but I've always had a soft spot for stray animals.”

Dean found that a bit too funny to be insulted by it. And it wasn't anything he wouldn't say about himself. “Seems that way sometimes, dunnit?” He laid his own hand over Jimmy's, and marveled at the significant size difference between them. “So... what do you plan on doing about it?”

“Well, I already took you home.” With an enigmatic and gentle spark in his eye, Jimmy locked his gaze in with Dean's. “So... how about, I take care of you? Like a good master.”

At the same time he let out a nervous and sudden snicker, Dean squeezed Jimmy's hand. He found his heart skipping about his chest like an overexcited rabbit, unsure of how to even respond to that. They were just speaking in metaphor... right? But this Jimmy Jacobs was... worldly, Dean wanted to say. Dean wasn't exactly sheltered when it came to sex, but Jimmy had certainly been around. In the few weeks they'd known each other, he'd learned to expect just about anything from him.

“Don't tell me you've got a collar and a leash in your nightstand for me, Jimmy.”

“Do you want one?”

He laughed again, because what the fuck else could he do? Jimmy was smiling, too, but there was an earnestness that Dean couldn't overlook. His eyes were big, honest, and most of all caring. 

He didn't know exactly why, but the thought of it was... nice. What he'd do with a collar, he couldn't even fathom, but it felt in his gut like something he wanted. A collar, a leash, what exactly was their function? Considering it, they existed not necessarily just to restrain, but also to lead, to direct, to guide. 

He wanted that. He wanted that from Jimmy.

“Uhh, well...” Dean looked down at his lap, at his fingers laced in with the others'. “I don't wanna disappoint you, man, but I don't think I could get myself to go buy a collar. Fuckers at the pet store would call the cops if they caught me tryin' one on, probably...”

Jimmy nudged him on the shoulder and finally let out a giggle, himself. “Don't be ridiculous. I'll be getting it for you.”

Now why in the hell was he blushing? Dean could discuss the oddest and most obscure sex acts, could show off whatever parts of his body were considered improper, toss out profanity without batting a single eyelash. But it was just entirely new to him, hearing something like that. Shit, just the concept of receiving a present was so alien that it embarrassed the hell out of him.

In spite of that, he nodded. Emphatically.

And as a reward, he received a kiss on the cheek and a whisper that nearly made him melt.

“Good boy.”

~

It was a deep wine red, crafted of a fine, supple leather and lined with lovely and soft faux fur. Round silver studs lined the top and bottom edges, cool and smooth to the touch. Embossed into the leather along the sides read “Dean”, in elegant cursive letters. From the matching ring on the front hung a round tag, engraved with the message, “If lost, return to Jimmy Jacobs”.

And, it had a matching leash, which hung in wait about Jimmy's shoulders.

Dean stared, his eyes wide, his fingertips running along its features, at a loss for words. He didn't often describe anything as “gorgeous” (besides Jimmy, and not to his face), but he couldn't think anything less.

And it was for _him?_

“J-Jimmy. I... Thanks, man. This is...”

“Beautiful, isn't it?” That proud little smirk. The tongue that ran across his lip. The painted fingernail scratching against the edge of the leash.

He nearly put it down on the coffee table. It seemed _too_ nice, at least for a mutt like him. But he wasn't stupid enough to pass up a gift, and he certainly wouldn't be spitting in the face of such generosity.

“Where in the fuck...?”

Jimmy sat himself down next to Dean on the couch, ran a hand through his dirty blond curls, sending a pleasant tingle down his spine. “I have my ways, my dear. Connections. Friends in high places, some in lower ones.”

Dean scoffed. “What, you know somebody who works at a sex shop?” 

“What makes you say that?”

“I am goddamned sure this wasn't made for a dog.”

“Of course not!” Jimmy ran his hand down Dean's cheek, following his jaw, scratching the side of his chin. “It was made for my pup.”

A warm shiver coursed through him. He found himself smiling with his lip caught under his snaggled front teeth. Letting out a soft sigh, he handed the collar over to Jimmy. It didn't seem right to put it on by himself. 

And his master was happy to oblige.

It buckled around his neck, soft and comfortable against his skin. He breathed out a blissful noise as he got used to the feeling, relaxing against the back of the couch. Jimmy pounced almost immediately, wrapping his arms about Dean's head and ruffling his hair.

“Oh look at you!” he exclaimed. “It's perfect. You look so handsome in your new collar! Do you like it?”

“Fuck yeah, I like it.” He said this far more quietly than he meant to, sounding almost indignant. 

“Great.” Jimmy drew away, letting his hands frame Dean's cheeks, warming them in more than one way. “So. Are you gonna be a good boy for me?”

Some smart-ass retort was scratching at the back of his throat, but he swallowed it down. For once, he wanted to do nothing but please his master. He didn't just want Jimmy's approval, he craved it, ready even to beg for it if that's what it took. This instinct was so new to him, but it didn't feel strange. It felt comfortable. 

Right.

Dean nodded, smiled at him.

He got another pat on the head, and a prolonged, gentle scratch behind the ear. A quiver melted down from the point of contact, into his neck and back and limbs, relaxing his whole body. 

Jimmy leaned in close to murmur in his ear. “I bet that feels nice. Doesn't it, boy?”

Rather than answer, he emitted a small and elated grunt, letting his tongue hang out slightly. God, it was so nice to just relax and be spoiled for a little while. Sure, he'd treat himself often, with an extra beer or two, a t-shirt he found ironically amusing, some french fries every weekend. But it was so much better to get it from someone else, someone so fucking pretty and nurturing.

“Oh, you're such a good boy, Dean,” he praised, clipping the leash to the collar. “All right, up.”

Jimmy stood, and he was followed without even a moment's pause. With a quick nod towards the kitchen, he led his pet away from the living room. It was a little odd, since Jimmy was quite a bit shorter than he was. But he held the leash, and that was enough for Dean.

He glanced back at Dean and grinned lovingly. “God, you're so cute. You wanna treat, buddy? Hmm?”

Treats? Shit, this was just getting better and better. Dean answered in the affirmative and followed Jimmy into the kitchen, a bit of a skip in his step. His master retrieved a box of bite-size cookies from the cupboard and took one between his thumb and forefinger.

“All right, Dean, sit.”

Dean dropped to his knees immediately. It was incredible how easily he slipped into this role, kneeling in front of Jimmy, gazing up at him with excitement. His hands planted themselves on Jimmy's thighs, his tongue hanging freely from his mouth.

“Whoa!” Jimmy snickered, the hand holding the leash patting Dean on the head. “Down, boy! Geez, down, silly...”

No less pleased, Dean placed his hands on the floor, hunched over, grinning and waiting.

“Good boy.” He laid his hand flat and reached it downward, the cookie sitting in the middle of his palm. Jimmy continued to praise him as he ate from his hand, nuzzling his cheek into his palm afterward. “There you go, Dean, that's so good... Now, how about we put that tongue to work, since you can't seem to keep it in your mouth?”

Jimmy walked over to the table and sat down in the chair, his legs spread wide to the point of indecency. He smirked down at his pet, the look in his eyes sending Dean into a momentary dizzy spell as his blood rushed throughout his body and towards his groin. 

Dean crawled over, grasping Jimmy's pants in his fingers and leveraging his head into his lap. Had he a tail, he'd be wagging it as hard as he could. But he could start panting lightly, his tongue between his teeth, his cheeks reddening quickly. He tilted forward as close as he could, rubbing his cheek into the crotch of his jeans, his stubble scraping against the denim.

“Hm? What?” Jimmy massaged his fingers into Dean's scalp, drawing a moan from deep in his chest. “You want it, boy? You want this?”

Dean whined, “Yeah, I want it, come on...”

“Let's hear you beg, then. You know the drill. If you want a reward, you have to do a trick for me first.”

“Jimmyyy,” he whimpered, his frustration getting the better of him. “Please, come on, you know I want it... I wanna suck you. Please?”

“What a good pup, begging so nice.” Jimmy unzipped his jeans. He tugged the leash a bit with one hand, and with the other pulled his hard-on free of his undershorts. “Okay, okay, here you go...”

Dean pounced, lapping heedless and hard against Jimmy's length. It felt so good to be loved like this, taken care of, treated this well. And all out of the goodness of Jimmy's stupidly pretty, eyeliner-streaked heart. He couldn't think of a better way to thank him for such a wonderful gift. And for the collar, too, that was quite lovely.

His master let out a chuckled breath, scratching his fingernails against the back of Dean's scalp as he took the head into his panting mouth. Dean moaned into him, his breath hot and quick, his lips working him over with a reckless abandon. He ran his tongue over the slit, shuddering at the wonderful, aching noise that Jimmy let out at the feeling. He himself was growing so hard it was almost beginning to hurt, his gut tight and joyously twisting.

But... his hands. He couldn't stand to let go of Jimmy's thighs, he felt anchored there, like he'd fall away through the floor if he didn't hang on.

And so, breathing hard, he pitched even closer to Jimmy, rising up on his knees, firmly driving his crotch into his leg.

“That's so good, mmph,” Jimmy moaned, his eyes pressing shut in ecstasy. “Don't stop, okay? Be a good boy, I want you to come for me, too...”

He began moving into Dean's mouth, softly thrusting forth. His hand remained on the back of his head, not pushing, but just to stroke his hair. In turn, Dean rut himself against Jimmy, clawing for all he was worth for the building tension and its inevitable release. And soon they moved together in a pair of stumbling and desperate rhythms.

“God, yes...” Jimmy sounded like he was completely wrecked at this point. His voice cracked with his lust, his moans were uncontrollably loud. “Mm, Dean, so good... Such a good boy. I couldn't ask for a better pet in a million years...”

And how good it tasted, Jimmy singing his praises through whimpers, futile in its attempt to control itself. He felt Jimmy twitch and pulse in his mouth, his breath gasping short in his lungs. Close, close, so very close, he could feel it...

Dean clutched suddenly at Jimmy's wrist, squeezing for dear life, as he ground himself harder and harder, the fabric of his jeans and boxers causing just the right amount of friction to drive him towards the edge.

Just as suddenly as their first conversation began, Dean was taking in Jimmy's orgasm, drinking in his desperate groans like the elixir of life. It wasn't moments later before he quivered for a moment, shook all over, giving a few more stuttering thrusts into Jimmy's shin and releasing his pleasure into his jeans.

Seconds later, Dean was panting against Jimmy's lap, smiling dreamily, a bit of drool lingering on his chin. His tongue snaked forth to lap it up, but he gave up very soon. Too much effort.

Jimmy lifted Dean's head, drew his wrist over his chin, wiping his saliva away on his jeans. He once more patted him on the top of the head, laying a kiss there for good measure.

“Good... no, no. Best. 'Good boy' just doesn't seems strong enough anymore.”

His chest swelled and his cheeks reddened again. “Thanks, Jimmy...”

“Now...” Jimmy stood, giving a quick but gentle tug to the leash. “Let's have a nap, shall we? I do hope you're housebroken, Dean...”

One of those smart-ass comments rose up again. He let it happen this time.

“No promises. You did find me on the street...”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay you had to know it was going here at some point. Shit, it's me writing it. I don't... guh. Please check the updated tags. To summarize, Dean ain't housebroken quite yet.

Dean hadn't ever given much thought to his stomach.

Sure, he tried to pay attention to its size and definition, considering his credibility as a wrestler might depend on it to some extent. Tried not to let it get too flabby. Gave it a good scratch when he woke up in the morning.

But he'd never really thought of it as a pleasure zone, or anything close to that. Not until Jimmy had him on his back, splayed out on his couch, his shirt pulled up to his chest, and practically becoming one with the cushions. Jimmy, his hand flat against Dean's abs, rubbed his skin firmly and lovingly, murmuring praise to him the whole time. With little else than his t-shirt, a pair of cotton briefs, and the requisite collar and leash, his legs and arms prickled with a lovely little chill. His collar jingled quietly with each movement, singing a relaxing pattern of white noise.

Dean felt his pleasure centers light up at the sensation. His arms flopped back against the couch, a moan rising low from his chest, he found himself oddly content. Not that he was normally a nervous wreck, but a mild buzz of nerves would follow him wherever he went. But now, laid out and being cared for so nicely, he was utterly unwound.

Maybe he could learn to like being taken care of.

Jimmy was teaching him a lot of things lately.

Most important of which that living at someone else's apartment for three out of seven days of the week wasn't quite as stifling as he'd imagined. Especially when Jimmy was willing – perhaps even thrilled – to treat him so well.

It still tugged at the back of his mind, though. And he hated to leave anything hanging.

“Hey, Jimmy?”

He looked up through the shock of pink hair in front of his eyes, his expression soft and warm.

Dean bit down on his tongue as if to coax the question out by force. “Why're you bein' so nice to me, anyway?”

His brown eyes widened, and then narrowed, and then opened up with a silent laughter. “Because I like you? Why else?”

“I dunno.” Dean glanced off to the side and let his gaze rest there. “'Cuz... even people who like me don't really give me much of a second thought. I'm sorta just left alone a lot of the time. Maybe 'cuz I spent so long taking care of myself, everybody just... assumes I'm all right like that.”

“I see... Okay. I'm changing my answer.”

“Hm?”

“Well, that is... allow me to add to it, at least.” Jimmy crawled forward and laid himself over Dean's chest, continuing to lightly stroke his bare stomach. “I'm doing this because you badly deserve it, hon. We grew up very differently, didn't we? But I get that you spent a lot of time taking care of yourself when it should have been someone else. So... I guess I'm just making up for lost time, if it's okay with you.”

Dean's heart was doing something weird. Sort of fluttering or jumping around... Certainly wasn't used to that. But he didn't hate it.

“All right.” He couldn't come up with a better response at the moment. Jimmy seemed pleased with it, though, and that was enough.

Pleased enough to make lunch for the both of them, which Dean ate from a plate on the floor, washed down by probably a few too many beers for that time of day.

Never too many for Dean, though.

His stomach full, the TV muttering some movie from the 1980's that they both only vaguely remember seeing years ago, he sat hugging his knees on the floor next to the couch. Jimmy laid on his side, one hand on his leash and the other scratching him behind the ears, gently, languidly. Dean blissed himself out into somewhat of a waking sleep, utterly relaxed against the couch even after Jimmy had let up on stroking him.

And it wasn't until the movie ended that he realized Jimmy had conked out some time ago, and that those beers were beginning to hit him precisely where it counted – his head, and his bladder. Each of these revelations came at the moment he tried to stand up. His head gave a bit of a spin, his lower stomach protested at how much liquid it was holding, and his collar pulled him back by the throat.

“Fuck.”

He landed back on his bottom and shoved both hands between his legs. The bathroom was just down the hall, no more than a few yards away. But he was stuck fast, Jimmy dead asleep and holding him there.

And he couldn't wake him up. Not when he'd been so nice to him lately. It simply went against his most basic morals in life – do unto others. Pay everything back in kind. And he couldn't just bother Jimmy for something so stupid and embarrassing.

Notwithstanding he was a goddamned adult man and he could hold it. He could wait however long it took for Jimmy to wake up. It was only early afternoon, he couldn't sleep that long... could he?

His fingers drifted up to fiddle with the clasp attaching the collar to the leash. There was the possibility that he could unhook himself, run to the toilet, and return before Jimmy even noticed. He was halfway to removing the clasp before his hand withered away and fell into his lap.

That... wouldn't be what a good dog would do.

A good dog stays on his leash until he's let off.

A good dog waits until he's let out to relieve himself.

A good dog is loyal to his master... no matter what.

“Fuck,” he repeated, his head swimming in the weirdest mixture of endorphins and lust and tipsiness he'd ever experienced. Fingers kneading his crotch, his thighs squirmed together not just in desperation but in arousal.

Logic had long flown out the window. Nothing was smart or practical about his decisions now... He was a slave to this role, to the leash.

To Jimmy.

He couldn't just leave by himself. No... He needed Jimmy to take care of him.

He could only wait. Hope that his master awoke in time.

Back against the couch and toes curling against the carpet, Dean squirmed and struggled against the pressure below his stomach. Tried not to give in just yet to the tingling at the tip of his dick. His cheeks burned at the thought of losing control, of humiliating himself in front of Jimmy, of making a horrible mess of his floor.

He shouldn't have been this dizzily excited about the prospect.

Yet he was. And so he sat, and he waited.

His heels ground into the fibers of the carpet, his forehead beaded with sweat, his fingers trembled against his groin. His bladder ached for release, pushing against his stomach, striking his heart with panic with every throb. He panted out a troubled breath with every moment that passed.

And in spite of his struggle, he found himself smiling. Dean, his tongue caught between his teeth, grinned as he squirmed against his own body. Ever since Jimmy put on his collar, Dean had found himself giving into his most base instincts. Eat, sleep, fuck. And... this one. It wasn't just his body pleading with him to give in, it was his brain, his loyalty to the one taking care of him, the stirring in his loins.

He was so wrapped up in himself that it began before he even realized it.

The loud hiss of relief sounded for several seconds before it registered in his mind. His briefs were soaked in mere moments. His fingers grew damp, then wet, and then were nothing more than a short hurdle between the rush of liquid and the carpet. 

“No! Aw, fuck, goddammit...” He tried to gasp his obscenities quietly, but they were followed by uncontrollable moans of relief. Shuddering where he sat, his puddle grew fast and soaked into the carpet below him. A shiver slid up his spine as his bottom became wet, his relief streaming through his fingers and down his inner thighs. He couldn't stop it no matter how hard he held himself.

But he didn't want it to stop. It felt so good, like the weight of the world leaving his shoulders, like every stress and worry in his body was flowing out of him in a torrent. Outside of his control, a heavy sigh came forth from his lungs as the final jets left him. The stream settled in a puddle between his legs before it disappeared in the wet spot in the rug.

His relief was so profound that he didn't even hear the movement behind him as he relaxed back against the arm of the couch.

“Did puppy pee on the carpet? Hmm? And I thought I had a good dog...”

“Shit!” Dean tried for a moment to hide his shame, but the puddle beneath him was far too wide and obvious. His hands settled against his sodden crotch, feeling the damp fabric against his skin. He was blushing all the way down the back of his neck. “Nnngh... Jimmy, I'm sorry--”

Surprisingly, the hand that laid itself on his head was gentle, reassuring. And then he felt two arms softly envelop his neck and shoulders. Jimmy's body was warm against his, unlike the quickly cooling wetness on his briefs and below his body.

“It's okay,” Jimmy murmured into his shame-burnt ear. “I'm the one who made you wait. What else could you do, huh?”

He blushed even deeper, staring down at his puddle. “C-Coulda woken you up or something, I dunno.”

“You were just trying to be good, Dean... I know that.” Jimmy released him from his grasp and stood up from the couch, avoiding the wet spot. He ruffled Dean's curls and bent down to look him in the eye. “You held in a lot before it came out. You tried really hard, didn't you?”

“Yeah...” Dean's usual response to shame was to fight his way back to dignity, but there was no punching his way out of this one. Jimmy tapped him on the shoulder, and Dean stood as well, his briefs still dripping a little.

“Let's get you a bath, okay? I'll clean up in here.” Jimmy led him from the living room, Dean trudging after him and staring at the floor. The light in the bathroom clicked on, the bath faucet began flowing, and Jimmy removed the collar from Dean's neck.

Without even being prompted or asked, Jimmy pulled Dean's shirt over his head, removed his briefs, and Dean let him. And he stood silent and unmoving until Jimmy led him to the bath with a hand on the back of his neck.

“Go ahead in, turn it off when it's full. I'm gonna go clean up in the living room. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

Dean stepped over the side of the bath and sat down, the warm water already beginning to wash away the stickiness on his legs. His nerves were soothing, his eyelids fluttering closed, his muscles turning to jelly. In the minutes that passed he only just barely remembered to turn off the water when it was at the right level. And it was then that Jimmy returned to the bathroom, carrying two folded towels and wearing nothing more than a pair of very small swim shorts.

Jimmy set down the towels on the counter, and then set himself down next to the bath tub, smiling up at Dean. He said nothing, but squeezed a small amount of shampoo onto the palm of his hand and began working it into Dean's dripping curls.

“Uh,” Dean started, suppressing a relaxed sigh underneath Jimmy's massaging fingers. “I'm... I mean. Again, I'm sorry about the carpet, Jimmy... I don't know what happened--”

“I do.”

“Hmm?”

Jimmy smoothed back Dean's hair, squeezing out much of the lather, and rinsed his hands in the water. “You fell into subspace, darling.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” He let out a confused and nervous laugh as Jimmy stood and then stepped into the bath along with Dean. And then he was sitting in Dean's lap, holding his head in both hands, their foreheads bumping together.

“Subspace, Dean,” he said, as if it were obvious. A soft kiss burned against his lips. “That's when you immerse yourself so deeply in a submissive role that you forget about the real world for a little while. It happens to everybody. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“The hell there isn't,” Dean grumbled, avoiding eye contact. And abruptly he groaned at the sensation of Jimmy's backside rubbing against his lap.

“Your secret is safe with me, if that helps.” Jimmy slid forward, allowing his growing arousal to rub against Dean's stomach. “As long as you promise to keep being good for me.”

“Geez, ain't like I meant to do that. Mmh... Though I can't really complain about where it got me.”

Jimmy gave him a light nibble on the ear and mumbled, “Well I know that you're a good boy, Dean. Or at least you try to be. But, I... think you could use a little training.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bluh bluh this clearly didn't take long enough or anything. Hoping to get back into a writing groove pretty soon. This should help.

Usually when one urinates on his friend's carpet, he isn't invited back under the same circumstances. Many would consider it grounds for a lifetime ban from the apartment, or at least from consuming alcohol therein. And yet, rather than receiving the expected punishment, Dean was given a bath, reassurance, and mind-blowing sex.

And this didn't occur to him as odd at all. Especially since Jimmy seemed happier than ever after the accident, in spite of the large damp spot smelling now of carpet cleanser next to his couch. Things had gotten quite weird for him, to the point where the weirdness felt like normality.

The next time Dean was over, the collar was on the moment he shut the door behind him. He was only mildly surprised by this, but as such he had a small bit of trouble transitioning back into his subspace.

“That was quick,” Dean snickered, just a little concerned by the impish look in Jimmy's eyes. “Ain't even got my shoes off yet.”

“We've got some serious training to do, buddy.” He was beaming just a little too gleefully at the prospect as he turned away from the front door. Dean gulped, but began following him into the living room regardless. Jimmy stopped short after only a few steps.

“Uh-uh,” he warned. “That's not how a good pup follows his master, is it?” He snapped his fingers and then pointed at the floor.

Dean glanced down, and then back up to face Jimmy, dumbfounded. It occurred to him about six seconds later.

“Oh!” Laughing at himself, he dropped to the floor and got on his hands and knees. 

It wasn't until he was down there that he realized how quickly he not only figured out what Jimmy wanted, but followed the unspoken order without question. He glowered and grumbled just a bit as he crawled after his master in the living room. He might have been just slightly embarrassed at how easily Jimmy had placed him under his painted thumb.

Upon making it to the living room, Dean noted a very bright pink gift bag sitting stark and obvious on the coffee table.

Jimmy sat on the couch with a pleased sigh and patted his thigh twice in succession. “Come up for me? C'mon, up.”

Dean reached and placed both his hands on Jimmy's thighs, resting his chin on his knees and staring up expectantly.

“Oh, you catch on fast, don't ya?” Jimmy grinned and gave him an especially affectionate pat on the head. He then reached for the bag and began digging through it. “Thought I'd give you a few other little presents to help with your training.”

With a rather expectant look on his face, Jimmy pulled out a stuffed hedgehog toy no bigger than Dean's fist. It was composed of beige and brown terrycloth and smiled at him with an embroidered mouth and beady little pair of eyes. It crossed Dean's mind that just months ago he would have been insulted, or at least confused to receive something like this as a gift. He never had been one for trinkets or knick-knacks, nor stuffed animals, even when he'd been young. And yet he found himself smiling right back at the thing.

“Well?” The way Jimmy snickered at him made it seem like he was prepared for a less than warm response to this present.

“Well. He's pretty cute, Jim,” Dean admitted, giving it an awkward pat on its back. “You want me to fetch 'im or somethin'?”

“That all depends, Dean.” He squeezed the toy, causing it to squeak cutely in protest. “You want it?” he taunted. “You want it, boy? Want your squeaky hedgehog?”

Dean huffed and glowered. “Don't be an asshole, gimme the damn thing.”

“So you want it, huh?”

“Yeah, you got 'im for me, didn't you?” He almost felt like growling at him.

“How about you do a trick for me, hmm?” That smug little grin on his face, the sparkle of mischief peeking out from all that eyeliner.

Dean was about to tell him to fuck off, but he remembered his role in all of this. He wanted to please his master, more than he cared about his dignity. And damn, a part of him did kinda really want that stupid toy. So, in accordance with Jimmy's suggestion, Dean sat back on his heels and held up both of his “paws” in what he hoped was a clear enough display of begging.

“Now _that's_ a good boy,” Jimmy praised. As a tingle of pleasure went up the back of Dean's neck, Jimmy held out the toy with one hand.

Dean reached up to take it, but let his hand fall just inches from it. _Nah_ , he thought. He could do better. He was a good boy, after all, or he tried to be.

He leaned forward and took the toy between his teeth, looking up at Jimmy with half a grin. In response, his master beamed and took Dean's head in both of his hands, ruffling his curly hair.

“Aww, what a good boy! I didn't even have to ask.” Jimmy patted Dean on the cheek and then gestured towards the space next to him on the couch. “Wanna come up all the way?”

Dean crawled up onto the couch, his toy still in his mouth, and laid flat on his back, his head resting on Jimmy's lap. He let go of the toy and allowed it to rest on his stomach, cradling it gently in his hands. As Jimmy gave him a scratch behind the ear he let out a sigh, warmth starting to fill the pit of his stomach.

“Mm,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. “I ain't ever been treated so nice, but I think I could get used to it real fast. What else ya get me?”

Jimmy rummaged through the bag. “Oh, not much, just a few other toys, and... one other thing we'll need.”

“Hm?” Toys. Collar. Leash. He even had a special plate that only he used to eat from. For the life of him he couldn't think of anything else that he would need... “What else ya got? Somethin' fun?”

“Depends on your definition of 'fun', I guess.” From the bag he pulled a package wrapped in blue plastic with a picture of a happy-looking golden retriever puppy on the front. There wasn't a ton of indication of what it might be, outside of the white lettering on the top. It read, “Puppy Training Pads”.

“Uh?” Dean was still very much in the dark on this. He'd never owned a dog himself, so he wasn't sure how a pad would help train a puppy... 

Though he was starting to get an idea from the far-too-amused grin on Jimmy's lips.

“You know,” Jimmy patted him on the head, “for preventing... accidents.”

“Oh.” He understood, then, but still managed not to feel embarrassed about it for several seconds. Then it occurred to him, and Dean covered his face with both hands as his cheeks started burning deep red. “God dammit, Jimmy, fucking _WHY_?”

“You know exactly why, silly pup.” He cradled Dean's head in his lap and snickered. “I'm not mad or anything, I just wanna make sure you can go without making a mess.”

Dean parted two of his fingers just so he could glare up at Jimmy with one eye while still able to hide his shame. “Jesus fuck. Next you're gonna tell me I gotta piss in the fucking yard.”

“Do you wanna piss in the yard?” His tone was so genuine that it nearly made Dean laugh. But he was still too embarrassed to let that slide.

“I'd really rather piss in the bathroom, honestly.” His ears were red now. He wondered if he'd ever stop blushing at this point. “I mean that's what I'm used to, you get it.”

“Then I know where these are going!” He gently pushed Dean away from his lap and dashed over to the restroom, looking far too excited for this whole thing. 

Dean remained lying down on his back, squeezing his hedgehog for comfort in the face of such humiliation.

“Christ on a fucking cracker.”

~

From the moment he'd met Dean, Jimmy thought he was adorable. Everything about him – from the little jagged edge of one of his front teeth that showed when he smirked from the side of his mouth to the angry pout of his lower lip whenever he was annoyed. And honestly, nothing was cuter than a Dean that was both embarrassed and turned on at the same time.

So he had to do it. He had plenty of crafty acquaintances who didn't ask questions. And the reaction to the training pads had been absolutely delicious. 

He _had_ to.

Dean just looked too cute lying on the bed like that, his gangly limbs sprawled messily about him. That beautiful red collar was still around his neck, highlighting the red on his cheeks. The only other thing he had on was probably the tiniest pair of compression shorts he owned, black and tight against him.

And one more recent addition to the look.

A headband with hand-sewn little fluffy ears. They stood up, but flopped just slightly forward, giving Dean the look of a dog that never quite grew into his ears. He was glaring at the wall, but the bulge in his shorts was undeniable.

Jimmy ended up with his hands at his mouth, grinning uncontrollably at the sight below him. Oh, that had been his best idea yet. This was absolutely glorious. He spent just a few moments too long staring, though, it seemed.

“You keep sittin' there lookin' at me like that, I'm gonna fucking bite you,” Dean snarled, still unable to look directly at Jimmy.

“Ooh, kinky,” his master purred as he climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and planting his ass against his crotch. “Well, maybe not compared to the rest of this, but who's really counting?”

Dean let out a sigh upon feeling the pressure on his groin. It seemed to help him forget for a moment just how embarrassing he looked. “I'm tryin' to be a good dog, remember? You're not makin' it easy.” His hips suddenly thrust upwards, throwing Jimmy off balance.

He giggled, quickly regaining his bearings, and leaned forward to draw his tongue against Dean's neck, making him shiver. “No, but you've been performing like a champ in the face of adversity.” A sinful set of teeth nipped softly but mercilessly at the tender skin between them. “So really, I should be rewarding you about now, shouldn't I?”

“Yeah, that's right,” Dean snickered, squirming against the sensation as much as he welcomed it. “I'm puttin' up with a lot for you, Jim.”

“Don't push it,” he mumbled into Dean's shoulder. Nonetheless, he slid off of Dean's body and laid down next to him at an angle, his head resting against his stomach. One hand traced forward against his skin to settle on Dean's abs while the other pulled his shorts down. His cock didn't have much time to rest heavy against his lower stomach, as Jimmy rushed right in to hold it aloft and start lapping it from base to tip.

As Dean let out a happy little moan and pushed his hips into it. “That's more like it.”

“A good dog keeps quiet when his master asks.” With that, Jimmy slid up and caught Dean's jaw in his hand. Dean struggled for a moment to get free before giving up, his tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth. 

Jimmy was surprised to find him complying so quickly. He smirked at the panting form below him. “Oh, we're gonna keep being good, are we?” His smile faded ever so slightly. “Glad to hear it. It's for your own benefit, you know. Just for that little remark, though...” Jimmy released his chin and returned back to Dean's hips.

“I'm gonna make you whine like the good little doggy I know you are.”

With that, he stuck one hand into Dean's shorts and wrapped the other around the shaft of his cock. He didn't even give him a moment to adjust, taking the head into his mouth and pumping him hard all the while. His other hand cupped the base of him and pushed two fingers right in between his legs.

Dean's breath came out in harsh bursts. He wasn't used to this many different stimuli at once, and whatever Jimmy was doing underneath his balls was driving him crazy. Jesus, he'd never been touched there before, and this odd and pleasurable feeling welling up in his belly was making it very difficult to hold back.

And Jimmy could tell. From the hitches in each breath and the little spasms shuddering through him with every lap underneath the head of his cock. He grinned as wide as one could in his current state. This was going even more deliciously than he could have imagined, if that was possible.

It could only get better from there.

The hand in Dean's shorts slipped further down, Jimmy's sweat-slick middle finger starting to tease at his entrance. His eyes shut so hard he began to see stars. His legs squirmed against the bed sheets, his hands squeezing and clawing the pillow under his head. It was becoming far too much too quickly for him to contain himself. 

Jimmy, sensing this, gently slipped his finger inside Dean, his other hand and mouth still hard at work on his cock. It didn't take a moment before he was far enough inside to hit his prostate, which he had far too much practice in finding, if he had to be honest.

He pressed down on it, all the while pumping and sucking Dean to near the point of madness.

A low keen sounded throughout the room, a noise that almost didn't seem like the person it was emitting from. There it was – Jimmy made good on his promise. Dean whimpered and shook under Jimmy's touch as stars popped behind his eyes. He felt it throughout his body, in his thighs and at the pit of his stomach and even tight in his chest. His hands tingled, the circulation restricted from how tightly he gripped the pillow.

Jimmy felt his cock twitching in his palm. As much as he would have loved to swallow him down completely, he had other plans. His head lifted, leaving Dean's cock shining and wet as he jerked him off with more force than ever, his other hand still prodding hard against his sweet spot.

“F-Fuck, fuck, I--” With little more than a whining gasp, Dean exploded all over himself, his orgasm landing mostly on his stomach. The last pumps dripped gently down Jimmy's hand, hot and sticky. Dean didn't as much relax as he did sink into the mattress. His breath shivered out of him as he heard Jimmy sidle up to him at the head of the bed.

He opened his eyes to find a hand being held close to him. It took him a moment to focus enough to see it, but he soon found it soiled with white fluid.

“Lick it off,” Jimmy ordered gently.

It didn't even seem like a choice to him. Not when he was being such a good boy for his master. He lifted his head just high enough for his tongue to reach Jimmy's hand, lapping up his own orgasm. His head was swimming, not just from afterglow but from the pleasure of following his boyfriend's every word, and the impending praise he'd receive as a result.

Jimmy kissed Dean's forehead and patted his cheek with his now clean hand. “Good boy.”


	4. Chapter 4

He was going to have to _say_ it.

The arrangement had been made in a discussion days ago, that Dean would need to rely on Jimmy for certain needs the next time he was over. But he might not have been completely aware of how he would have to obtain his assistance.

Jimmy knew he wasn't used to asking for help. He'd become all too aware of that since he started seeing Dean. But offering his guidance and care had brought such a visible change to him that he couldn't deny him this opportunity. 

Since becoming his pup, Dean was standing straighter – though his posture was still pretty atrocious – the exhausted sag in his eyelids relaxed into a sleepy contentment, and if at any point he was overstimulated or too excited to handle himself, a single touch from Jimmy would calm him. At least for a little while.

When Dean was out with Jimmy, that was all he could really afford to be done to him. A squeeze of his shoulder or a tap on the back of the neck. He could contain himself at least somewhat, when reminded.

But it would take more than that to properly redirect his energy. Jimmy had found some chew toys for adult humans on the internet, and thus ordered a few to make sure Dean had plenty to choose from. The blue one, a thick ring, was Dean's favorite. He could spend quite a bit of time lying down on the floor, gnawing away at the thing until he reached a true equilibrium.

But he couldn't ask for it. So many things inside him would clamp his mouth shut on the words. And so Jimmy would have to prompt him.

“What?” he would ask, watching with amusement as Dean bounced on his heels and looked away. “What is it? Need your squeaky hedgehog?” Dean would sigh and shake his head, chewing his lip. “Oh! You want your chew toy, huh?”

“Yeah!” he would bark. “Give it here, c'mon.” Upon receiving it he would flop to the floor and roll onto his back, teeth clamped into the soft rubber.

Dean was going to have to get better at this. Jimmy wasn't a _mind reader_ , after all. A good pup can let his master know when he needs something, and thus so could Dean, when taught. His training wouldn't be complete until the moment he could voice his needs.

Jimmy waited until the perfect opportunity presented itself. And he was a patient man, much unlike Dean.

It was hot that day, even inside Jimmy's place. And Dean was never one for moderation, so he was not only naked but for his collar, but he was chugging ice water like he'd been hiking in the desert all day. It was inevitable, then, that while Jimmy lazed on the couch in front of the television, Dean flopped over onto his lap, he would begin fidgeting. 

Just every now and then at first. He brought his knees up to his stomach and held them there. His foot eventually started jiggling. And then he was squirming incessantly, his thighs grinding together, humming nervously into his knuckle.

“Hm?” Jimmy grunted down at him. “You alright, buddy?”

Dean startled at the question, but resettled into his fidgeting as his face grew pink. He looked at the floor and made another humming sound, as if prompting Jimmy to continue.

“Nooo...” he disagreed, grinning and tapping Dean on the nose. “Not gonna work this time.” At Dean's confused – and almost panicked – expression he explained, “You're gonna have to tell me what you want.”

“Whuh...?” Dean couldn't finish even one word. He knew that the situation would be coming, but not quite like this. As much as he'd gotten used to being cared for, he still hadn't gotten a handle on actually talking about it. It appeared he would have to, or he'd be buying Jimmy a new couch. 

“You can do it,” Jimmy encouraged, gently scratching Dean's scalp. “You're a good boy, aren't you? You can tell me.”

Dean huffed, not at Jimmy but at himself. A scolding of his own mouth for not saying what he needed to. The words stuck to the inside of his throat, and he growled at this.

“Come on. What do you need, Dean?”

“Need...” A sigh fell from him, and then what could almost be mistaken as a whimper. “Need... Need y'r help,” he mumbled.

“Need my help? What do you need my help with, boy?” Jimmy was _beaming_ by now. The anticipation of what Dean was about to ask for was clear in his face. Like he'd been waiting all his life to hear it.

Dean swallowed and glanced up at Jimmy, his need growing by the second. As embarrassing as this was going to be, he wanted to say it. Wanted to be helped.

“I... I gotta piss.” He felt his cheeks and ears warm as he heard himself say it. But he had no choice but to keep going. “Need you to take me. Okay?”

“Of course!” Jimmy stood up, taking Dean's leash in hand. He bent down to kiss him on the forehead. “What a good boy. Just like I asked.”

The walk to the bathroom was somewhat excruciating for Dean, despite being just down the hall. Not only did he have to make the journey on his hands and knees, but also while trying to hold his bladder without the benefit of clothing. But he made it into the bathroom without incident, breathing a sigh of relief that at least he wouldn't be ruining any carpets or furniture now.

“Hang on just one more minute, Dean, okay?” Jimmy reached into the cabinet under the sink and retrieved the box of puppy training pads, tearing open the packaging and pulling one out. He gave it a moment's thought and then pulled out another, remembering just how much he'd been drinking.

Dean blushed darker and groaned at this. Then another pang went through him and he sat back on his heels, his hands jamming themselves between his legs. He groaned again, this time in desperation.

“Hold on, almost ready...” He unfolded the white pad and laid it flat against the floor, the rustling sending an echo against the tile. The second one joined it, its edge tucked underneath the first. “There. Ready.” Jimmy snapped his fingers and pointed at the pads. “Go ahead, boy. Come on.”

Asking had been the hard part, as it turned out. Dean let go of his crotch for a moment to crawl over to the pads. He straightened up, his knees spread and his hands clutching at his collar, and closed his eyes. A shiver went up his spine, and he let out a loud sigh.

This part? This was all too easy.

The deluge was near immediate. Dean's shoulders slumped as he relieved himself, the stream flowing loudly against the pads. The puddle spread slowly, in spite of the volume of his release. It absorbed into the pads, spilling from the first into the second, but not a drop escaped to the tile.

“Ah...” Dean cracked open an eye, and then the other, blushing and smiling contentedly at the proceedings below. How good it felt to let go, finally let go. And to let go exactly where he was supposed to, exactly when Jimmy said to. And what felt even better than the pressure draining from his body was the hand on the top of his head, petting him gently.

Dean let out a breath and tried to focus. He felt himself getting hard at his touch and the praise it represented, but he wasn't done yet. He definitely wouldn't avoid making a mess if he couldn't keep it together. Dean reached down and directed his dick downwards, causing the stream to splatter lightly against his thighs, but at least it wasn't spraying everywhere.

“Good boy,” Jimmy murmured as he stroked Dean's hair. “Such a good boy... So proud of you, Dean.”

“Mmh.” That small moan was really all he could manage in response. He was still going, still soaking those pads for all they were worth. And the both of them were nearly drenched through by the time his stream tapered off. He pushed out just one more drizzle and watched it become lost in the soaked pad below.

“Goodness,” Jimmy laughed as he stepped around to face Dean. “You really had a lot to hold back, huh?”

“Heh...” Dean chuckled, a hand coming up to run through his scruffy hair. “Yeah... I'mma good boy, huh? Real good...”

Now that he was empty, though, he felt himself hardening. His tongue snaked out between his grin. The hand that had previously been holding it down was wrapped around his dick, squeezing it, coaxing it to come up.

Jimmy tugged lightly at the leash all of a sudden, just to get his attention, and reached his hand out. He helped Dean to his feet, admiring the strong stance of his body, the stiffness between his legs. Without another word Jimmy pulled the leash towards him, drawing him into a deep kiss, letting out a moan himself as their lips rammed together. The both of them warmed to the other's touch and allowed their tongues to meet wherever they might. Soon they were matched in hardness, and in breath.

Jimmy exhaled through his smirk as they separated. “Best I could ever ask for.”

~

It became routine, then.

If the collar was on, Dean would have to ask Jimmy to help him with his bladder needs. They used up the package of training pads eventually, but Dean insisted that they not buy another one when asked. He explained that it would just be a waste of money, and put on a mischievous grin when Jimmy needed further elaboration.

“Don't need 'em... good dogs go outside, right?”

Jimmy smiled.

That was it, then. Dean could nudge Jimmy's knee with his cheek and his meaning was conveyed perfectly. The leash went on, Jimmy led him through the sliding door to the tiny patch of grass outside, surrounded by walls and an awning that kept their activities very well hidden. 

Dean would lift his leg against the wall, leaving a stain on the paint and a shining wet patch in the grass. Jimmy would roll his eyes, mentally noting he should hose that down later, but understood how much more fun it was when he could leave a visible mark against something. And repainting a wall sometime in the future was certainly easier than replacing a whole carpet.

They would go to bed sweaty and tired, satisfied and clinging to each other with a smile.

It wasn't to last, though. Much like everything in their profession, theirs had to be merely a temporary arrangement. As such, when Dean got a call one morning that he had a lucrative opportunity waiting for him down in Florida, should he accept, the both of them understood it as inevitable. Unpleasant, but inevitable.

Upon hearing the news Jimmy nodded and, in a reversal of their usual position, nestled into Dean's arms and laid his head against his shoulder.

“I understand, sweetie,” he murmured into his neck, the slightest crack in his voice. “I had so much fun though. Being with you. I want you to know that.”

Dean's instinct wanted so badly for him to keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't end it like that. Not when Jimmy had done so much for him.

“I did, too,” he whispered back, laying a kiss on the side of Jimmy's head. “I really did, Jimmy. I mean. You been real good t'me. Really appreciate it... Ain't nobody ever treated me this nice, yanno?”

Jimmy nodded and pulled away to pat him on the cheek. “Then I don't want you to settle for anything less from now on. Promise me you won't.”

“Won't. Promise.” He mumbled it but he meant it wholeheartedly. 

Jimmy picked up his collar and removed the tag from the front of it, slipping it into his pocket. He handed the collar over to Dean with both hands.

“This is yours. The tag I'll keep... just in case we get a chance to meet again.”

“You sure?” Dean held it, the supple leather and faux fur brushing against his fingers. “This... this thing was expensive. And you were the one who bought it, I mean--”

“It was a gift.” Jimmy kissed Dean on the lips, softly, one last time. “So you get to keep it, hon. I want you to. I want you to find somebody who's gonna put it to real good use... and treat you exactly as you deserve.”

While packing for his new home, he didn't take much more than his clothes and his wallet with him. He was never one for keeping a lot of possessions. But buried in the bottom of his suitcase was a bundle carefully wrapped in a towel – his collar, his chew toy, and his squeaky hedgehog.

He would have to begin this new chapter of his life alone. But it wouldn't end that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo the end of a bit of an era for this one. Don't worry - it's not even close to being over. :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW CHAPTER, NEW ARC, YOOOOOOOOOOOO.

And thus once more he was a stray, a scruffy misfit wandering about alone. 

Dean was used to it, to be sure. But he was in a new city, a new state, even. Florida was hot and humid and definitely felt like he didn't belong there. Even at work, in the ring, where he was supposed to feel at home, it was different. It was for TV, it was cleaner and more family-friendly and absolutely the opposite of the indies. He could make do, of course – but it was harder. And it didn't help that he hardly knew anybody around there.

And having known just how good it could be - to feel like he belonged, like someone cared for him, like he was taken care of. That, he wasn't used to. But he missed it dearly.

The most comfort he could find was at the bars. He went with the rest of the roster after the shows, of course, but he found himself sliding back into old habits nonetheless. He slipped away to drink by himself, at the corner of the bar or at an empty table away from the others. It's not that the rest of them were all terrible... though many of them were. But he barely knew any of them well enough to feel comfortable chatting.

And it was on one of those nights that the pangs of loneliness were at their strongest. He sat on his own, once more, in the table farthest from the group. He could see Husky Harris taking several shots in a row, his brother this close to having a coronary about it, and Summer Rae and Paige laughing at him. Jesus, the whole locker room was there, laughing, having a great fucking time.

And Dean... Well, at least this was familiar – the taste of a lukewarm Heineken, soured by no one being there to enjoy it with him. He knew this, he could deal with this. He could stumble home and pass out on his couch because his bed just felt too lonely at this point.

He could deal with it.

He didn't want to. But he could.

It wasn't until he'd downed his fifth or sixth bottle that he noticed someone idly looking at him from across the room. William Regal. The closest thing he had to a mentor at the moment... which was the closest thing to a friend who lived anywhere near him. Regal made sure Dean was always doing well, advocated for him behind the curtain, guided him in the entirely new style of work. 

At that time, William was sitting with Antonio Cesaro, the both of them sipping whiskey and probably sounding way too fucking classy for this dive bar. But William kept stealing glances over at Dean as he chatted, something odd sparkling in the blue-grey of his eyes.

Dean couldn't lie to himself – it just wasn't his style. William Regal definitely intrigued him. He felt like they understood each other in a way he couldn't put to words. 

Dean was way too tired and frustrated to think too much about it at that point. He left enough cash on the table for his drinks and started standing up. He felt his stomach and bladder sloshing, both overfull of beer. He sighed, knowing that would have to be taken care of sometime soon. But he was hardly in the mood to do it here.

It could wait. Whatever.

He trudged across the bar, offering little more than a wave – not even eye contact – at his drunken coworkers wishing him a good night. As he stepped out into the cool night air, he pulled a cigarette out from the crushed box in his back pocket. He'd taken up smoking again since he moved, even though it made his lung capacity smaller, thus making it harder to work. But he had so few vices to keep him company, he figured he could feel better first and quit later. 

Dean lit up his cigarette and took a deep draw from it before starting off down the street. He was lucky that his place wasn't far from here, but just walking was already making it difficult to hold it. The nicotine and the alcohol were making him feel loose as it was. He might have to take care of it sooner than he thought.

It was then he felt a tingle down the back of his neck. Standing outside a bar, cigarettes on his mind. His bladder getting dangerously close to losing control. 

Fuck. He couldn't help but think of Jimmy.

Dean scowled and let out a frustrated puff of smoke. There was no going back to it. Not now, maybe not ever. He made his decision. It was making him feel worse and worse every day, but he made it all the same and he wasn't about to throw away his greatest opportunity when it was so long coming. 

But... he could remember what it was like. He could do something similar... he could feel something close.

Dean glanced into the alleyway he was passing and stopped short. His fingers fumbled with the cigarette, and he flashed back to a certain promo he did a few years back. He wasn't sure how anyone hadn't stopped him before it was made. But fuck, it was the indies, nobody gave a shit either way.

Title belt over his shoulder, cigarette dangling in his mouth, pissing against a wall on the second floor of his fleabag motel balcony. It was for his job. To show how little he gave a fuck about society's rules. But he had to admit he got a thrill out of it... Throwing caution to the wind, exposing himself, being vulnerable to the world.

It wasn't the same. But it was something.

Dean glanced around, finding nobody on the opposite sidewalk who would care, no cop cars within view. The only person outside the bar he just left was Regal, who seemed very busy making a phone call at that point. He waited until the older man turned his head away before darting into the alleyway.

The cigarette clamped between his lips as he reached down to undo his jeans. He was squirming a bit on his feet, mainly because it reminded him of times past. Holding it in... felt like the buildup to an orgasm at times. And it felt so good to let it go, even better when he'd been waiting for a long while. 

He wondered how Jimmy would feel about seeing something like this as he pulled his soft cock out from his briefs. Probably all right, as long as Dean had his leash on... Dean shook the thought from his mind. He couldn't go if he got too hard.

Taking in a breath through his nose, he let the smoke drift up over his vision in the exhale between his lips as he aimed his cock at the wall. The first drops of relief began leaking out from the tip when he heard someone's throat clearing insistently at the mouth of the alley.

He had his dick put away even faster than his next heartbeat, which, goddamn, nearly stopped at the sound of another presence. He was but moments away from telling whoever it was to fuck off, but it died on his tongue when he saw William Regal standing there, looking entirely out of place in a full suit and polished shoes. 

Dean finished zipping up and coughed, smoke and shame stinging his eyes. “Ah... hey. 'Sup” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, trying to pretend that having had his dick out in an alley was entirely normal and in no way illegal. He could barely see Regal's face in the dim light afforded by the street lamp, but he swore the man was smirking. Which made zero sense to Dean, but at least he wasn't angry.

“Mr. Ambrose,” Regal answered in a pleasantly chilled tone, stepping forward confidently as if he owned the fucking street they were walking on. “I see you've found something more interesting than staring into a bottle all evening.”

As much as Dean felt like they were similar, Regal was a difficult guy to read sometimes. He probably did that on purpose. Dean looked at him through narrowed eyes and took the cigarette out of his mouth.

“Guess so. Have you?” Dean asked with a grin of his own at the side of his mouth. His foot tapped against the ground, feeling his bladder protesting the tease of relief that he hadn't made good on.

William chuckled, dark and quiet and deep in his chest. “Well, I thought I had, but I might have been mistaken... I could leave, if you didn't plan on having an audience. However...” He approached Dean a little closer and leaned casually against the wall. “I can tell that you've been troubled lately. Frustrated, even. I can see how that might result in a bit of a rebellious streak.”

Dean rolled his eyes and took another quick draw from his smoke. “Gonna call the cops on me if I keep goin'? If so I'll just walk back, whatever. Ain't lookin' to fuck up my chances for a cheap thrill.” He started towards the mouth of the alley, moments from passing the other man, before he was stopped by a proposition he never expected.

“I won't tell if you won't.”

Dean turned to stare into Regal's face, finding a smile on his thin lips that was equal parts worrying and intriguing. He cocked an eyebrow and dropped his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out only to pull another out of the pack. He fumbled with his lighter before Regal motioned to him for it. Suspicious, Dean handed the lighter over anyway, leaning forward to accept his help. It was such a small and seemingly innocuous gesture, and yet his cheeks were burning hotter than the butane lighter in Regal's deft hands.

The older one must have noticed. His grin only grew wider as he watched Dean take in the smoke and accept his lighter back.

William held up his hand, but made no move to touch Dean. But it was there, it was open, and damn would it feel nice against his cheek... They looked meaningfully at each other for several seconds, William waiting patient and kind as Dean tried to sort out a tangle of thoughts and feelings.

“I'll walk away now,” William whispered to him, “if that's what you want.”

Dean looked down at William's hand, and then once more into his eyes. And he reached forward with a tentative, shaking grasp, and pulled the other man's wrist toward him. William's fingers gently clasped against Dean's cheek, his palm scraping nicely against the stubble on his chin. Dean let out a sigh as a warmth welled up at the base of his stomach, his heart swelled, his throat tensed in the best way.

“Good...” William mumbled, stroking Dean's face. “That's a good lad.”

“Christ,” Dean huffed behind his cigarette. “Fuck... This is so fuckin' weird. But I need it. God damn, do I need it.”

Regal nodded and his expression softened even more. “Considering my tastes, dear boy... this is downright routine.”

Dean found his smirk returning at that. “Yeah? You a sicko like me, Regal?”

“Certainly depends on your definition... but by societal standards, yes. Given that I was about to watch you do something very naughty, and enjoy it in a very sick sort of way... I'd say we're a pair of deviants.”

Dean found his hand drifting to his stomach, feeling just how hard his bladder was, taut against his muscles. His lower lip was caught between his slightly uneven front teeth. He felt his head start swimming in the subspace that he missed so much over the past several months. It felt like home. He'd nearly forgotten how good it could be.

“Funny, that,” William muttered as his hand drew downward to plant itself on the back of Dean's neck, as if he knew exactly what would make him feel good. “I mean... the situation I found you in just now.”

The younger one shuddered and sighed, “How so?”

“Well, it's a matter of animal societal structure.” His eyes perused Dean's body up and down, taking in every trembling limb. “To show submission, it is normal for a wolf or even a domesticated dog to empty his bladder. It goes beyond simple biological need at that moment... It becomes a symbol of acceptance for another's guidance and leadership. So... do you accept?”

Dean nodded, his gaze never breaking from William's as he finished his explanation. He didn't even have to ask, at that point. He'd already made his decision. He was melting under the other man's touch, his legs going weak. It felt so good... yet it could feel even better.

“Yeah,” Dean exhaled, taking his cigarette out to hold at his side. “Yes... Sir.”

The stream was strong and immediate, splashing straight through his briefs and pattering loud against the denim. The warmth made his head feel lighter as it spread down the left leg of his jeans. He let out a quiet but high-pitched moan into the night air, his vision blurring suddenly with tears that he didn't know he needed to shed. Yet he could still take in William's approving smile.

He felt the torrent soaking his pants and running down his skin, and it sent a wonderful shiver along his spine all the way up to his scalp. His left sock was soggy within moments, and he finally dared to look away from William to watch the puddle start growing out from his shoe. It spread so fast he was basically standing in a lake by the time he was half empty. 

“There's a boy,” William praised as he began stroking Dean's hair. “You've done so well already.”

Dean nodded and mouthed his gratitude, finding himself unable to even speak with how goddamn good he felt. His knees were weak from relief, and he dared to rest his head on William's shoulder as he continued to soak himself. William, in his infinite kindness, allowed it, and held him steady there until the last trickles fell to the ground from Dean's pant leg.

Dean's eyes were streaming at that point, but he was smiling. He lifted his head to avoid getting William's jacket wet. The irony was not lost on him and he almost felt like laughing in spite of the hot tears falling down his cheeks. His cigarette, forgotten, dropped to the ground and was snuffed out in the puddle.

William reached forward to wipe them away. “You live close to here, don't you? Are you alone?” He continued after Dean nodded. “Good. Let's go for a walk, shall we?”

A long discussion was necessary. But for that moment, Dean was content to let William walk him home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep still workin on it. Sorry it took a while but I hope it's worth it even if it is light on the smut in this chapter.

It was a rather soggy walk back to Dean’s apartment. He was anticipating having to throw his boots into the washing machine along with his jeans, which were still fairly sodden by the time they would arrive. He found himself feeling supremely bashful even though he usually didn't give a fuck about anything, really. He didn't want his leather jacket to smell like piss for the rest of his life (it was the most expensive thing he owned at the moment, too), and so all he could do was try to discreetly pull his t-shirt down over the wet spot on his crotch whenever someone walked past. He hoped the darkness could conceal his shame a little better than a few inches of his shirt. And even though it was Regal’s fault that he was in this situation in the first place, Dean couldn't imagine getting through it without him. 

“It's all right,” William told him, over and over. “You're doing so well.” He even started walking in front of him, getting in between his ward and the line of sight of any passers-by. Logically, Dean understood that no one was probably paying attention to him. It was night, it was a city street, everyone was just trying to get from one place to another. Still, he appreciated the sentiment. 

They made it back to Dean’s apartment complex after what seemed like hours of agonizing, careful, squishy steps. Dean reached into his jeans pocket and found his keys, cringing when he felt some moisture against his knuckle. He just had to keep it in the right-hand pocket, didn't he? The same direction his dick points… Face burning, he turned the lock and darted inside, allowing William to slip in after him following a few furtive glances.

Dean was embarrassed, not only at his soaked state but at the condition of his apartment. Thank God he lived alone, but regardless he wished he could have bothered to clean up a little. Not like he expected guests, but could it kill him to throw away his beer bottles? 

William was unfazed, at least, not bothering to take any significant look around. In fact, his gaze was set on Dean. 

“Um.” Dean unconsciously grasped the outer leg of his jeans, looking at the floor. “I gotta… get these off. So. Have a seat anywhere.”

“Would you like any assistance?” William asked. His tone was genuine. Kind, even. 

Yes. “No,” Dean replied, too quickly. “Nah, I-I got it.”

“If you're sure.” William took his jacket off and lowered himself to the nearly threadbare couch. He folded his jacket neatly on the armrest and placed his hands on his knees. Like he was waiting for a doctor’s appointment or something. 

Dean nodded and stalked off to the sole bathroom in the apartment. He sat on the rim of the bathtub and started untying his boots, his fingers clumsy and ineffectual. At least he didn't double-knot them, otherwise he'd be useless at this. Finally, he was able to get them off, as well as his socks. They were both completely soaked through. Dean let them drop wetly to the floor, hoping that awful smell would come out of them with a wash or two. 

His jeans had to be next. But in reaching for his belt, the button, and the zipper, he suddenly felt the room start to spin. In some odd and dizzying combination of arousal, shame, and drunkenness, he found himself barely able to move or even stay upright. His breathing got heavier, his heart was fluttering. It was too much. It was all too much. He couldn't handle it by himself. He had felt something like this before but there had always been someone else there. Someone to help. To take care of him. 

Jimmy. He needed… someone like Jimmy. Or someone who could do what Jimmy did for him. 

Well. The other one had already offered… and William wasn't shy about helping him cause this problem in the first place. The least he could do is lend his hands to Dean for a minute or two. 

“H-Hey,” Dean called out weakly. “Regal, uh. L-Lemme take you up on that, actually.”

In less than thirty seconds, William strode in with his usual comportment of authority, just finishing rolling up his shirtsleeves. “What do we need?” he gently inquired. 

“Uhh, just… need… uh.” his words weren't cooperating with him, either. Fuck. He pointed to his belt, staring at the wall intently to avoid eye contact. “Can't do it… myself.”

Regal gave an oddly solemn nod and approached, maybe a little too quick for Dean’s liking. But he wanted to get him help as quick as he could, Dean guessed. As soon as William got near, he knelt down on the floor, which honestly was as unexpected as William growing a second head. His nice suit pants on the dirty bathroom floor, William _lowering_ himself in front of him, just like Jimmy would have been doing. It shocked Dean so much that he flinched backward before he could even be touched. 

William glanced up, eyes soft but surprised. Waiting for explanation or understanding, if Dean happened to have any. 

Dean found his eyes starting to heat up with emotion. He had to look away before they started to spill. Vision burning with tears, Dean sat on the rim of the bathtub again, once more shivering as the moist fabric pressed onto his skin, feeling so utterly useless that his stomach started to hurt. 

William had stood up by that time, staying firmly in place, not moving to touch Dean or to turn around, either. It made Dean nervous, seeing William so unsure of things and waiting for his command when he was having so much trouble telling even himself what he needed. 

“Shall I come close or back off?” William asked, just barely above a whisper. “Or leave altogether?”

“No!” Dean gasped, heart suddenly pounding at the thought of being alone like this. “Sorry,” he quickly added. “Don't leave. Just. Can't… can't figure it… I don't…”

William held up a hand and backed away to the counter. He leaned back against it, placing his hands on the edge and resting there. “I can stay here.”

Dean swallowed, though it did nothing to combat the lump in his throat. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You can.”

There were a few moments without words, where Regal seemed to be waiting for Dean to volunteer information. When he didn't, William started on it himself.

“This certainly wasn't where you expected the night to go, was it?”

Dean found it in himself to laugh at that in a quick, surprised bark. That was one thing he really liked about Regal. His humor was subtle, it snuck up on everyone. Sometimes Dean wasn't sure he was supposed to laugh until a minute later. Despite being a real professional, a stickler for some of the rules, and a guy who thought “casual dress” meant a two-piece suit, William Regal was full of surprises.

“Nah,” Dean sighed, wiping his eyes. “No it wasn't.”

William nodded and drew a hand through his bangs. “I understand, then, why it must be difficult for you right now. We've had no time to speak about all of this, negotiate what you needed, make sure you were ready for it. That is entirely my fault and I apologize.”

Dean shrugged, but William held up a hand and continued, “No, no. It's important. You're under no obligation to try making me feel better about it. None at all. So please, allow me to ask, are you all right?”

He wasn't sure if he was, yet. And he was trying to puzzle it out for a few moments, but realized he might be freaking William out by not answering. “I dunno. ‘m... better than I was a minute ago?”

Another nod, a sober grunt through his prominent nose. William proceeded from there, “Should I not have knelt?”

Dean shook his head, feeling the subtle bounce of the curls of his hair, sweaty and sticking together. This hyperawareness of himself wasn't helping things. “N--I mean, yeah. But you wouldn't’a known. So it ain't… I mean…” He gave it another moment of thought before he explained, “Just reminded me of the last guy I was with. I dunno if I can do anything the same way. Hurts too much when it ain't him.”

“Mm.” William pushed off of the counter and walked slow toward Dean again, observing his body language closely. Dean nodded at his approach and stood up, himself. He _really_ wanted to get out of those jeans and get cleaned up. 

“How about this?” William asked, standing up straight, towering over Dean despite being only a few inches taller. “I'll remain standing for this. I can still reach if you still want me to help.”

Unable suddenly to speak, as if his mouth was full of cotton, Dean nodded. The thought was comforting. He needed comforting above all else at that moment. And so, with a tingling sensation at the back of his neck, Dean leaned forward and rested his head on William’s shoulder. William paused for a moment, possibly out of surprise, but proceeded immediately to rub the back of Dean’s head with one hand and reach down with the other. In a quick and deft movement, he pulled Dean’s belt open, undid the button, and lowered the zipper of his jeans. 

Immediately a warm feeling came over Dean’s entire body. He was taken care of. Not the way he used to be, but just as well. Just different. A good different. Jimmy was his peer, they understood and cared for each other in that way. But William was authoritative, smart, a mentor to him. Dean felt like he never had to worry about anything again in the few seconds William was manipulating his clothes.

“Ah. Oh, dear,” he heard William mumble with a touch of concern.

That warm feeling was centralized between his legs all of a sudden, a light trickling sound echoing against the floor. Dean looked down, only vaguely aware that he was pissing himself again. He thought about panicking for the brief second before he saw William’s pants were entirely dry. He'd stepped back just in time. 

Dean’s face burned but he couldn't stop. Couldn't stop smiling or letting go. Fuck it. He was about to shower, anyway. The tile would survive. “Sorry,” he offered weakly, a hand shuddering to rest on his forehead. “C-Couldn't… help it. Just… you know… Submitting.” He laughed briefly, his head swimming.

William smiled back at him, and continued to ruffle Dean’s hair. 

“Good lad.”


End file.
